Weeping Willow
by Irregularity
Summary: With his son dying of a disease, Brom turns to the elves for a cure. It is there, that Eragon finds companionship in the form of an elfin princess. Will love have a chance to blossom before Eragon's body betrays him? And what of Galbatorix? AU
1. Stars

I've decided to pick up some old projects and start anew because my previous writing was pathetic - not that the following chapters are going to be any better, but at least it won't nearly be as embarrassing. Let me know if I improved and if I should continue.

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**But down deep, at the molecular heart of life, we're essentially identical to trees." (Carl Sagan)**

An orange moon, bloated with it's rays of stolen light, hung about lazily in the vast expanse of darkness that was the midnight sky. A few stars were littered here and there, the small dots of dim light pulsing and throbbing from an oblivion away. The moon took no notice of it's nocturnal companions; it's few rays of light were both weak and muddled, as if the satellite of rock had grown weary of following the rotation around the obesity of planet earth. But even with such poor illumination, one could vaguely make sense of a worn dirt path, the vegetation limiting it's own growth to prevent it's weak, leafy sprouts from getting trampled by the frequent travelers. Now, this groove in the ground led to another, though less beaten, path. And this road led to another, and another, the plants growing far more audacious with each twist and turn, until the undergrowth practically overwhelmed any resemblance of what may have been a trail or pathway, a consequence to the lack of visitors. Always were there forks and divisions branching out in opposite directions, it's winding nature making it impossible to predict where a certain route would lead one to. Left, or right? Yes, the variety of pathways were intentionally designed to turn travelers about, to reach dead ends, constructed to confuse and amaze – one could get lost in such a quagmire, unless one knows the way, but such travelers are few and far between. With enough ignorance, some unfortunate fellows have never even made it out of the thick maze of shrubbery alive; many are doomed to this fate. This is not so for the party of eight that seemed to navigate within the density of the forest with ease, the circus being led by two cloaked figures whom darted left, then right, seemingly unperturbed by the purposefully deceitful paths before them. Their pace, unlike the beating of their hearts, was both deliberate and dawdling, but after traveling for several days on foot, it seemed exceedingly so.

A member of this small cluster, Jeod as many called him, hastened his steps with anxiety, quickly catching up to the tallest of the two that lead the little group. The hood of his cloak rested upon his crown and hid away the features of his face, though that hardly left an ominous impression, for his shoulders were hunched and his head set low in submissive compliance. His sword wasn't even buckled properly, not that the poor man noticed.

"Brom, how much longer must this continue? The night has broken, and who knows what lurks within the shadows of this wilderness. Surely, we are near the destination?" Jeod asked in exasperation, irritation seeping through his tone.

He didn't like it out here, not one bit. He, being a merchant himself, preferred the panoramic view of the sea. One could see the vast expanse of salt water stretching out for miles and miles on end. The sea was the mirror of the sky, and such a clear window between the two made it difficult to come upon any surprises, unlike now; the forest, a mystery to even the elves, had no assurances, leaving it's visitors stunned and unprepared. How uncomfortable. How unsettling. This environment was so much different then his oceans.

Brom, still walking briskly through and around the foliage, parted his lips to reply, but was immediately cut off by the exciting and almost patronizing voice of a smaller figure who walked ahead of both the men, his pace and body language alight with impatience.

"Come now, Uncle Jeod! Surely you can keep trudging on for another minute or so? I can practically see the magic ablaze in the air as clearly as I see the light of the moon. We're close, right father?" His voice, laced with the anticipation and naivety of youth, was almost mocking as he bestowed a quick glance and an impish grin towards Jeod.

The sea merchant sighed kindheartedly, a playful sound of exasperation escaping his lips, as if the child's antagonistic remarks were customary. Brom, smirking slightly in that almost prideful way that fathers do, allowed himself a short and humble laugh that was rarely seen or heard, almost nonexistent to some. Regrettably, such a moment was nullified by a small cough that increased in both volume and tenacity at a rapid rate, it's menacing sound originating from the small character that spoke in such a cheeky manner earlier.

And so the procedure began. The troupe halted without hesitation, waiting patiently with eyes practically bleeding with concern and pity as Brom tended to the needs of his son, allowing the boy to rest and drink some sort of bitter medication, much to the child's dismay, as was evident of the disgusted look of his face and the cringe of his nose. They would resume to thrust themselves deeper into the forest only minutes after the coughing fit had stopped, for such delays were common and, by now, routine. The stars still pulsed and the moon impelled with indifference, but the travelers that continued to wander with determination and purpose now did so under a dark cloud of clemency befitting the dark mood. Sometimes, the episodes were worse, the pauses of hesitation from their adventure taking much longer. This caused their spirits to dampen and fall apart like a thin parchment of paper under a torrent of rain. But if the echoes of coughing were onslaughts of rain, the ringing of the boy's laughter were bright, radiations of sun. And often did the boy smile and laugh, for he was the burst of illumination within a star, his gravitational pull drawing more and more people to revolve around him after stepping within his perimeters. He was like the sun, the center of the universe, a worldly being that even the moon would envy.

The moon's vanity was too great to allow room for concern over such earthly matters. Besides, it knew that all stars die, glowing and resonating until it caved in, obliterating itself into a magnificent cascade of gingham and sapphire. But if the moon was right, if the boy did resemble anything to that of a star, then that would mean that his light would continue radiating and emitting itself throughout time and space, even after thousands of years succeeding his death, his destruction not resulting in the loss of his luminance. The moon continued it's nonchalant trek, gliding about from the east to west almost dispassionately.

As the clouds of despair began to dissipate within the group, Jeod found it in his judgment to approach Brom again about a familiar topic of conversation that usually left the both of them in despondency. Though the subject at hand was not a light or positive one, it was one that could never be avoided.

"_He's getting worse."_

Jeod's voice resonated in Brom's mind, his tone both pensive and solemn. Brom made no movement of confirmation or disagreement, his steps unwavering and his actions uninterrupted as he continued walking alongside his son into the underbrush.

"_I know." _

Unaware of his father's depressing disposition, the young boy tugged at the older man's hand, eager for his attention as he pointed at a nearby creature fluttering about within the trees, it's feathered wings disturbing the leaves above, causing them to cascade down upon their heads like small flakes of emerald. Ignorant of the conversation between Jeod and Brom, the boy looked up, his doe-like eyes gleaming with excitement as again, he smiled. He had his mother's eyes, a soft amber brown. There was an abrupt and jerking tug, deep within his chest, and Brom suddenly found it more difficult to breathe.

"_What makes you think that they can cure him? Angela already made her diagnostic." _

Brom couldn't help but look back down at the boy, who now had his neck craned at the sky in search of another glimpse for the nightly bird. His hair, even under the faint shimmer of the limp moon light, glinted slightly in a way that only blonde locks could. Even so, the fringe of his hair could do little to conceal the strip of cloth that wrapped itself tightly around the crown of his head, the white color of the bandage contrasting starkly with the dark dullness of the night. Again, the young child stumbled ahead of the two adults in earnest, seemingly unaware of whatever physical ailment or illness he may have, as he pursued a purple moth.

The eldest of the two men took an unsteady breath, attempting to maintain his composure and keep his ill feelings at bay. He could not afford to make a scene, not now. No, not here. Many knew that this journey was surely devoid of all hope, a trifling goose chase for a lost cause. Brom did not need his friend to remind him. Jeod's words were whispers of anguish that echoed within the hallowing emptiness deep within his chest. Brom ached. But he held a small flicker of hope, nothing more than an ember really. He knew of the elves, the power they held. He knew that fate was like the fluctuation of wind – omnipresent, ferocious, and forever changing. It was this small flame of promise that motivated him through this tribulation. That, and the fear of going a day in a world in which his son was not smiling, breathing, laughing. Hope and fear, arguably the two most motivating forces in the universe.

"_I have hope. I have faith. Who else are we to turn to but the elves themselves?" _

Jeod continued walking closely in step beside him, grabbing the hood of his cloak and adjusting it even more so to cover his expression that was devoid of optimism and expectation.

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"What requires your attendance at such a late time?" An elf asked rather impertinently, doing little to hide his irritation towards the arrival of the travelers. He loomed over rather intimidatingly at the petite youth that had knocked upon the front gates so earnestly, aggravation clearly written on his face and body language. He was a guard, and the title of occupation alone should have been noted with high regard, so of course he would not take kindly to having a barbarous human child intrude upon his night of serenity. The elf was not arrogant, just a bit presumptuous, enough so to take offense of the groups arrival at such a rude hour.

"I am Eragon, here to justify my existence."

The elf was caught off guard though by the simple and feverishly enthusiastic reply of the boy, the eight words ringing true in the guard's ear. Upon further inspection, the elf could find no real threat to the Varden's caravan, and so he opened the gate and stepped aside, the word's of the child still resonating in the chambers of his mind.

An amalgamation of cadences, syllables, and vowels – this is where our story begins, with the reverberation of a short and simple statement.

And as Eragon took his first steps within the borders of Ellesmera, the very sky exhaled a tempest of wind, it's chilling breath carrying the whisper of a thousand promises and broken dreams. Unbeknownst to all, an elf of royal blood ambled about within the forest apathetically, her mind farther off than even that of the stars, her eyes glossy like the surface of the moon. Her lengthy locks danced with the abrupt outburst of gale, her eyes squinting somewhat against the air's onslaught. The female elf interrupted her stroll to take careful note of the stirring of the trees. May it be whimsical thinking, but the princess felt as if the forest suddenly seemed excited. She brushed the idea aside, thinking it as nothing more than her imagination, resuming her traipsing.

She did not notice the silent hum of the air that seemed to murmur the name of the first Dragon Rider.

The moon yawned. The stars gazed on.


	2. Trees

This chapter is under intense revision.


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